


One-Shots

by LyaStark



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:34:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23940880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyaStark/pseuds/LyaStark
Kudos: 14





	1. But for the Hole in My Heart

"You won't be getting any children on me," Arya said by way of response when Gendry asked for her hand in marriage.

Arya knew she could only be a terrible mother, no matter how much she wished otherwise. Her hands were crafted for bestowing the gift of death and grasping for justice. They weren't made for cradling babes who would need more devotion than she could risk. She was barely brave enough to allow herself to care for Gendry and the broken pieces of family that remained to her.

Of the six children of Lord Eddard Stark, only Jon, Arya, and Rickon remained. But none of them were the same children they had been when they were first broken away from each other.

Jon was a man now. He was lord commander of the Night's Watch and a seasoned warrior, besides. He would never return to that boy of four and ten he had been when they last saw each other, though when they met, he still ruffled her hair and called her "little sister."

Baby Rickon was no longer a baby. A lad of ten, he looked at Arya with little recognition in his Tully blue eyes.

Seeing them and remembering what they would never be again hurt almost as violently as the complete loss of all the others.

But Gendry was still Gendry, so she clung to him fiercely as they traveled here and there around Westeros together with Nymeria.

"I'll marry you," Arya finally said. "But don't go thinking I'll change my mind."

Gendry just shrugged. "I don't know how to be no father anyhow. Never had one of my own, so I wouldn't know how it was done."

Their first babe died in the womb.

"We wouldn't have kept it anyway," Arya said as Gendry sat at her bedside, his eyes creased with exhaustion. It was a struggle to push back the _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry_ that threatened to burst from her.

She hadn't meant to. It was all his fault, really.

The babe must have taken root before they last left Winterfell. Arya didn't suspect until nearly a month later when the rabbit stew they cooked over the campfire made her nauseous. The suspicions were confirmed when she wretched up her entire meal at the scent of the onions they bought in a nearby market town.

The wonder that filled her husband's blue eyes when he learned the news pricked at her heart.

But Arya had turned her voice to steel as she said, "We need to find a maester who can give me moon tea. I can fix it like I did all the times before."

They found a wise woman just outside of Darry and bought a few bottles off of her.

Arya didn't tell Gendry she never drank any. She always planned to drink it. She had both of the times before. But they were gone so quick, they didn't count. Telling Gendry made that one more real somehow.

She knew she should do it, but every time Arya mustered the will to drink the moon tea, she saw that look on Gendry's stupid face, the one he got when she told him she was with child. Then she started thinking things she shouldn’t, like what it would be like to give her father or mother’s name to a babe of her own and telling them Old Nan’s stories, especially the ones Bran had loved best.

But her own body saw fit to set the situation to rights.

They road toward Maidenpool where they knew they could find work. The fishing boats always needed an extra pair of hands and skilled blacksmiths were rarely turned away.

As the city came into sight, the world seemed to shift, coming in and out of focus before Arya's eyes. As she shook her head, trying to regain control, her mare seemed to slip from beneath her and Arya found the ground hurtling toward her.

The next few days saw Arya shifting in and out of consciousness. Sometimes Gendry's face looked down on her with concern. Other times, a woman in her middling years whispered calming reassurances.

The hardest part was when she awoke completely to find the problem solved and all but cleaned away.

"The babe didn't make it, sweetling," the innkeeper's wife told Arya as Gendry watched her from the opposite side of the small room. "One of the wise women came and saw to you. She says you should be able to carry another child once you heal up."

She left to give them privacy and to send up some warm broth.

"Why'd you go and keep it for so long?" Gendry asked as he sat beside her bed. "The healer said it was too old by now for the moon tea not to hurt you if you had drunk it. You almost died as it was."

"Don't scold me." Arya's voice rasped and her throat burned from lack of use. "You're not my bloody father."

He stood abruptly and stormed away from the bed. "No. I'm just the bloody idiot who's worrying over you."

Arya watched him lean against the window frame, his large body tense with silent fury. She found herself aching to explain why she had hesitated so long. She wanted to tell him of the little boy she imagined with hair as black as pitch and dark blue eyes. Or the little girl who had rich auburn hair just like her grandmother. Or even the lad with the solemn grey eyes and a long face. Those little people she was terrified of wanting and losing. She wished to tell him all of that.

Instead, Arya gave him her back and prayed for sleep.

Mayhaps she would tell him one day soon when her body was stronger and she felt less afraid.

\--------------

Gendry ran his mouth over Arya's bare stomach, tracing the gnarled lines that were growing along the expanding belly. She thought she had never looked uglier, but he didn't seem to mind.

"Are you worried?" she asked, threading her fingers through his thick black hair as she lay back on their bed.

He looked up at her. "About what? We aren't the first to have a baby. Not nearly."

Arya kicked him playfully. "Don't be stupid. You know what I mean. We won't be able to move about very often even after the babe comes."

"So we won't move around, is all. What's the matter with that? We could stay here in Winterfell."

They had returned to the old castle of her childhood soon after deciding to keep their latest child, lest she miscarry again on the road. The five months they spent there was the longest stretch of time Arya had spent there since the Stark's retook the North and Rickon was crowned king.

The castle was still in the same spot – though it had changed much. Rickon was still her kin – though he seemed more Osha's than hers. Even his regent, Wyman Manderly, was closer to the boy.

But no matter how often she longed to return to Winterfell while she was away, being there always felt like scrubbing salt into that bleeding hole in her heart. Winterfell was where she was last completely happy and unafraid of loss; where her family was last whole. Now the entire castle just felt like a lie.

That was why Arya and Gendry moved about, traveling from city to holdfast to city, working for their keep. They willfully planted no roots to bind them in place; no roots that could be torn from under them.

But the babe would change all that. In many ways he had already changed things.

Arya stared up at the ceiling of their chamber. "Do you want to stay here? You know you hate being outside a forge for too long and Wyman doesn't like the idea of the king's good-brother working with his hands like a commoner."

"Never mind what Wyman thinks my hands ought to be doing." Gendry pressed a kiss against her belly. "If I cared one bit about what he thought, we wouldn't be married now."

"Or, if we were, you would be the storm king by now."

When Wyman saw that Arya would not allow them to set aside her marriage so she might be used to barter an alliance, he changed plans. He proposed legitimizing Gendry and establishing his right to Storm's End and the Stormlands. Surely the storm lords would prefer a Baratheon as their liege to that Seaworth lad who wed Shireen Baratheon. And with the North and the Riverlands at his back, surely-

But Gendry just got that stubborn look on his face and said, "I don't know nothing about being no king. I'm a blacksmith and a knight."

That certainty seemed to be gone now. "Mayhaps he was right," Gendry said.

"Because you know about being a king now?"

He smiled up at her. "Now look who's being stupid."

"Still you," she said. "Talking about being some king…"

"It's just that we don't got nothing for her," he said. "No home, no money to raise her with, no dowry, nothing to leave her. Not even a name."

Arya returned her gaze to the ceiling again. If she had kept that promise not to change her mind, none of this would have gotten so damn complicated. She wouldn't have that dangerous sensation of hope blooming inside of her either. It would just be her and Gendry and nothing more complicated than that.

Gendry moved up the length of her body and pressed a kiss to her lips.

"I'll tell Wyman I changed my mind about Rickon legitimizing me," he said against her neck. "Least we can do is give her a good name, whatever else happens."

By the time ten years of marriage had passed between them, Arya and Gendry had three children and a fourth just beginning to quicken.

"Seven hells!" she cried over the privy one night. "Why did I let you do this to me again?! Gods damn you! You act like all I'm for is plopping out babe after babe."

Gendry knelt behind Arya with one arm supporting her middle and his free hand keeping the hair out of her face. "It was you who wanted to keep on going," he reminded her. "Just had to have a boy, didn't you?"

"Oh, shut up! Don't you want a son? Men are supposed to want boys."

"I want to sleep. That's what I want."

Another round of nausea clutched her insides and she filled the privy with another serving of that evening's meal.

In truth, it wasn't Gendry she blamed. It was that bloody Winterfell maester. He was nothing but a liar. While she was with child for the first time, he said she would begin to feel ill in the mornings for a time.

But Eddara grew inside of her with scarcely a complaint, nor a moment of sickness. As she grew older, Dara remained just as sweet and agreeable and gentle. Arya often wondered how such a girl could come from her and Gendry. Only her looks – the black hair, grey eyes, and long face – marked her as theirs.

Shortly after they established a blacksmith shop in White Harbor, the sickness the maester promised finally came with their second girl – that stubborn and wild little red-head, Catelyn. But the nausea did not see fit to restrict itself to just mornings. Two moons passed while Arya was sick and cross and retching at all hours of the day. That left Gendry to seek sanctuary away from her rages in the shop beneath their rooms. She would hear him pounding his frustration out into a sword or helm. She envied him his more easily forged creations.

Carrying Cassana – that lively little creature with brown hair and striking blue eyes – was almost a relief compared to Cat. With her, the sickness only came upon Arya in the afternoon and it wasn't nearly so fierce. She was still able to go about her duties in taking orders and managing the books for the shop while Gendry began taking in blacksmith apprentices.

The babe she carried now was of course different than all the others. The nausea often began in the evening and grew worse as she tried to sleep. At least twice a week, she would awaken, already fleeing to the privy or even just the window. Gendry would follow -- cross and exhausted -- to hold her.

Four babes and not one made her ill only in the mornings.

Four babes and each one a balm on that hole burning in her chest.

Once the nausea ebbed away, Arya washed her mouth out with wine.

"Say this one isn't a boy." Gendry stroked her hair absently as they made their way back to their chambers. "Would you be wanting to try again?"

"This one is a boy," she assured him, secretly wondering how many children might be enough to heal that hole. "Only a Baratheon man could keep me up so late into the night like this."


	2. Namedays

Seven namedays had passed since Arya rode through the gates of Winterfell for the last time.

The first two had slipped by without anything to mark them out as special. She spent them as she had spent so many other days during those years, hungry, cold, and afraid.

That all changed by the time she turned two and ten. When that nameday came, Arya had been in the care of Lady Smallwood for some moons. There was no feast in her honor, as her father and mother would have arranged at home. They lacked the food and guests for such an event. And the presents were fewer and far less lavish. But Arya loved them just the same.

Lady Smallwood had presented her with a white shawl embroidered with grey thread. The garment had been soft and warm, and Arya found herself grateful for it as the winter winds rose around the little castle. It was just the practical type of gift her mother or septa might have given her. The thought had brought a smile to her face even as that empty place in her chest ached.

The other gift was from Gendry all the way from the Crossroads Inn. He sent the present along with Harwin after her nameday had passed.

The pin Gendry had made her wasn’t near as intricate as some Arya had seen in King’s Landing, adorning lords and ladies. But the cool metal was smooth and polished and finely shaped like a little wolf in mid trot. Just looking at it, Arya had felt the corners of her mouth curving into a smile.

“Some moons ago, I told the lad you’d be turning two and ten soon,” Harwin had explained. “Gendry had asked after you, and all. Thought nothing of it till we came round to the Crossroads again. He pressed this into my hand and asked that I bring it to you. A nameday present, he said.”

“Would you take him a letter from me?” Arya asked, only to remember that Gendry couldn’t read.

“The smith has talent,” Lady Smallwood said, when she examined the pin for herself.

“Talent he’d be better off using on swords and armor,” Lem said. “He wasted good metal on a trinket she don’t need.”

“I do so need it!” Arya had shouted back. It didn’t matter that she never left Acorn Hall or that the only ones to dress nicely for were the Brotherhood. She would wear it anyway.

“Oh, leave off, Lem,” Harwin said. “The little lady isn’t like to get many nameday gifts. Don’t grudge her this one.”

While it was true that Arya had only those two nameday gifts, she wondered if Gendry would get any at all. Then she found herself wondering when his nameday was and if she would be able to return the gesture. She had no skill in making anything to send to him nor coin to buy a gift. The best she could do in return was try to better his lot in what little way she could.

“With winter come Gendry and those children at the inn could starve or be killed out there on their own,” she had said while Lady Smallwood brushed her short hair later that night.

“You’re right to fear for them,” Ravella said. “So many are like to die in even the mildest of winters. This one will be worse than most, or so my maester tells it. ‘Long summers are followed by longer winters’ and all that.”

“With the war, it’ll be worse, won’t it?” Arya asked, thinking of all the burnt fields and rotten crops she had seen. “It’ll be worse for the orphans at the inn, them without high walls like we have and all.”

“Yes, child. The smallfolk always feel winter the hardest.”

“At home – in Winterfell – we had the Winter Town right outside our walls,” Arya had told her. “The smallfolk would stay there during the winter. That’s what Maester Luwin taught us. They were safer there beside the castle. The orphans need a place like that.”

Lady Smallwood stopped her brushing. “Arya. Are you asking me to take in these orphans?”

Arya bit her lip. She knew Acorn Hall had no Winter Town and even if they did, the guards were too few to protect it and the castle too. But still.

“Yes,” she said. “My grandfather can’t help them now. He’s dead.” Like nearly the rest of her family. “And neither can my uncle, Edmure. But they need someone.”

Lady Ravella began stroking the brush through her hair again, saying nothing.

Arya tried to think of something more persuasive to say. Just as she was about to burst out with a string of reasons why Gendry and all the others had to come stay, Lady Smallwood broke the silence.

“I’ll speak to Lord Beric on this. If he agrees, I see no reason why they shouldn’t come here. They’ll need to be fed, but mayhaps bringing them here will free some of the lightning lord’s men to take on other duties. Besides, you could do with company near your own age.”

Gendry, the Heddle sisters, and the other orphans arrived some weeks later wearing rags and wary expressions on their dirty faces.

Lady Smallwood chided the members of the Brotherhood for allowing children to get to such a state, while Arya bounded forward to greet them. Most were nervous and quiet, but the Heddle sisters were warm and talkative. Just as she remembered, Gendry was quiet and reserved, though he fell in beside her when they went inside to help the little ones settle in. She had missed that, the way they would naturally walk in stride together.

When she glanced over at him, Arya caught Gendry looking at the wolf pin she used as a clasp for her cloak. She thought he would say something, but he only looked away, almost shyly.

 _Stupid_ , she thought, before thanking him for the gift.

————————————-

Years had passed since then. Years and more namedays and more nameday gifts.

When he turned eight and ten, Arya began teaching Gendry to read and do his sums. The next year, she took one of the shields the Brotherhood left behind along with other supplies, and painted a black bull on it for Gendry. For his twentieth nameday, Arya worked diligently with Long Jeyne to make him a shirt she wouldn’t be too ashamed to give him.

Gendry always forged something for her. A charm bracelet with wolves and a trout. A helmet that looked like a snarling wolf head. A necklace of leaves and acorns that caused Lady Smallwood to give Arya a talk about class differences and confusing feelings that sometimes arise between men and women.

But it was her next nameday that made her realize the necessity of that talk. The day Arya turned six and ten, Gendry met her outside of her rooms and presented her with a skinny little sword that was so familiar her throat tightened.

“I wanted to give this to you without anyone seeing,” he said. “It’s not something you’re ‘sposed to give a _lady_.”

Without a word, she snatched it from him unceremoniously to take a closer look. If the slender sword had lain beside the original, Arya was certain she wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference between them. The feel of the grip, the width, the length. It was all the same. The only thing missing was Mikken’s mark.

 _Needle_. She was instantly taken back to that day so long ago when Jon surprised her with the little blade. In her mind’s eye, she could see her brother and his rare smile. She could see Winterfell as it had been the day she left with the summer snow falling gently and melting in Robb’s hair.

Arya thought never to see that sword again, just as most of her family or Winterfell itself were lost to her.

Emotion pulled at the corners of her mouth. Whether it was from joy or pain, she didn’t know. Likely both.

“I made it from memory,” Gendry said after a pause. “If it don’t look right-”

“Oh, shut up!” Arya cried. “You just shut up! It looks perfect!”

She jumped up and threw her arms around him.

“Careful with that sword!” he shouted. But she wasn’t listening.

Arya showered him with kisses as she had done so many times to her brothers. Tears streamed down her face as she pressed her lips to every bit of his. As she calmed down some, the kisses slowed and lingered, taking in the texture of his skin. Just when her mouth moved to cover his, she stopped abruptly.

She was suddenly aware of their bodies pressed so tightly against each other, of Gendry’s arms secured around her waist, and of their lips just a breath apart. She need only tilt her head a bit and they would be touching. The thought of it sent a shiver through her.

“Arya…” Gendry said. His face was bright red, like when the maidservants flirted with him.

Before he could tell her they shouldn’t, Arya closed the space between them and kissed him firmly on the mouth.

He didn’t turn away. He didn’t disentangle himself from her like Arya feared he would.

Instead, Gendry returned the pressure of the kiss. Her back was suddenly pressed against the wall of the corridor and his tongue pressed along the line between her lips. Curiously, Arya opened her mouth to see what he would do. He tentatively explored her mouth.

Between them, she could feel him hardening against her. Instinctively, her hips thrust against Gendry, inciting a moan from and intensifying the throbbing between her thighs. She repeated the motion to create that new and wonderful feeling again.

Gendry abruptly tore himself away from her.

“What are you-” Arya cried.

“Beg pardons, m’lady,” Gendry said, hurrying down the corridor.

As she leaned against the wall, examining the sword and swiping the tears from her face, Arya knew exactly what she would give Gendry for his next nameday.

————————————-

 _Lady Ravella had a lover once_ , Arya thought, securing the cloak about her shoulders with her wolf pin. _Men have lovers all the time. I can too._

But she wasn’t nearly so worried about the propriety of laying with a man as she was with whether that man would want to lay with her at all.

Gendry likely thought her face was too plain and her body too skinny. He had certainly seen more shapely women at the Peach and even among the older orphan girls.

Only… he didn’t seem to find much fault with her on her nameday. The memory of how hungrily his mouth had moved over hers when she kissed him a moon’s turn past gave her the confidence she needed to go to him for his own nameday.

Quiet as a shadow, she slipped through the castle, keeping to the shadows to avoid the guards. By the time she reached the forge, Arya was certain everyone could hear the thudding of her heart for miles. She paused outside of his door to still her nerves.

“Gendry?” she whispered as she pushed the door open quietly.

The chamber was dark as pitch. She waited until her eyes adjusted and she could make out the shape of his meager furnishings.

“Gendry?” she called again, stepping inside and nudging the door shut behind her.

“Arya?” Gendry’s voice was thick with sleep.

She stepped closer to his bed, expecting him to rise and ask what she was doing there. He didn’t though. He only shifted on his mattress.

Arya sat on the edge of the bed and shook his shoulder. “Gendry, are you awake?”

He responded by slipping an arm around Arya and pulling her down against his bare chest. She scarcely had time to let out a surprised gasp before her covered his mouth with his own.

 _Did he know I was coming to him? Did Willow warn him?_ Arya wondered. But those thoughts, and all others, fled her mind as his tongue slipped between her lips. His movements were more confident than they were before. There was nothing cautious about the way his tongue caressed hers or the firm grip he had on her. It was as though he had done that and more so many times before.

Gendry’s mouth left hers and trailed down the column of her neck, nipping at her skin as he went.

She sighed his name, pushing herself against him and the hardness that was only separated from her by a flimsy sheet.

All at once, he stiffened. “Arya?”

He said it like a question. “Don’t be stupid, of course it’s m-”

Gendry flung himself away from her so abruptly, Arya nearly tumbled off the bed.

“Seven hells,” he growled, lowly. “What’re you doing here? You know Harwin and Lem would string me up if they thought I’d f- I’d- I’d dishonored you. That what you want?”

Face burning with embarrassment, Arya was grateful for the darkness. “You can’t dishonor me, stupid. I came here on my own. I’m dishonoring _you_.”

“You know it don’t work that way,” he said.

“I don’t care how it works. Why’d you go kissing me for if you don’t want me?”

“I do wa- I was asleep when you came. I thought it was a dream, is all.”

Arya thought about that for a moment, chewing at her lip. He did want her. That’s what he meant to say. “You were dreaming about me?”

Gendry didn’t answer. She wondered if his face was all red like it got sometimes when one of the whores at the Peach flirted with him…or when she kissed him on her nameday. Arya reached out to feel the outline of his face. Her palm pressed against his cheek. His skin burned beneath hers.

 _I dream of you too sometimes,_ Arya wanted to say, but it made her feel so stupid and embarrassed. So did, _I want to give you my maidenhead._

“It’s your nameday,” she said instead.

“Not ‘til the morrow,” Gendry said.

“Today is the morrow,” she reminded him. Arya had chosen to come at the hour of the wolf so she might give him his nameday gift before the rest of the castle stirred.

His hand covered hers. “You can’t stay he-” he started.

But she was having none of that. “You can’t dishonor me. And you can’t ruin your nameday present just because you want to be stubborn and honorable.”

“Nameday present?”

"Yes," she said, refusing to allow any of her nerves to weaken her voice. "Your nameday present."

Arya leaned forward and kissed him. She kissed him until he responded in kind and drew her close. Kissed him until neither of them could think of anything else but the feel of each other.

She needed this closeness. Arya needed to show him how much his gift meant to her, how much _he_ meant to her. Because Gendry was the closest thing to home and family Arya had known since riding through the gates of Winterfell.


	3. Sharing a Bed with a Princess

“Don’t be so stubborn about this,” Arya said. “You were _always_ so stubborn. You know we don’t have the coin to waste on two rooms. It’s not like we’ve never slept next to each other before.”

Of course Gendry knew she was right. They slept beside each other countless times when they traveled through the war-torn Riverlands. But that was a whole other life ago and she had only been a little girl. Things were different now. That skinny little thing with her hair chopped short had run off into the rain and returned to him years later as a woman grown with hair that fell about her shoulders and a predatory grace to her movements. Just the idea of sharing a bed with her sent blood rushing to his face.

Though Arya didn’t say anything, he knew she must have noticed. She seemed to notice everything now. That made his face burn all the more fiercely.

“I’m getting us a room,” Arya said, turning toward the inn.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Gendry said.

She glanced back at him from the door, a smile touching her lips. “ _So_ stubborn,” Arya said, slipping inside.

That was new as well. That playful, almost flirtatious way she sometimes teased him.

“Are you going to sleep on the floor of every inn we stay at?” she asked that night from the bed. 

The wood floor was somehow worse than the ground outside, Gendry decided. And much more cramped. The bed was wide enough to fit six men comfortably and took up most of the room. He imagined her slender form sprawled across the wide expanse of the mattress while the floor creaked beneath him as he struggled to find a comfortable position. Gendry wondered if this was some jape of hers.

“The next inn we get to, I’ll sleep in the stables,” he said.

For some time after that they didn’t speak. The only sounds to be heard were the hum of voices from below and the creaking each time Gendry shifted position.

“Stop being so stupid,” Arya said. “Just get into bed or neither of us will get any sleep.”

The frustration in her tone sounded much more like the girl he had once known. Maybe that was why he wordlessly relented and joined her in bed. That or the aching in his back.

With a grateful sigh, he sunk into the mattress above the blankets, well away from Arya. Through the window, the moon lit the outline of her form, leaving the rest of her in shadow. Gendry couldn’t see her face, but he could feel her watching him just the same. He thought she might gloat or tell him to listen to her from the start next time. But she said nothing until he began drifting off to sleep.

“Gendry?” Arya whispered.

He groaned. “Arya?”

“Do you remember Lommy?” she asked, not a hint of anything flirtatious or playful in her voice. “Do you remember how he died?”

Gendry’s jaw clenched and he swallowed. “I wasn’t there,” he reminded her.

“It was Raff the Sweetling who did it,” Arya said. “The one who-”

“I remember him.” Gendry drew in a breath to clear the tightening in his chest. He hated thinking of that time. It only made him feel angry and helpless all over again. “What of it?”

She was silent again.

He wondered if Arya was biting her lip. She used to do that so often before, but hadn’t since she returned.

“I saw him again,” she said at last. “Raff. I saw him while I was away. I killed him.”

Her words jolted him. “You-”

“I brought him to my rooms – he thought he’d take my maidenhead – and I killed him the same way he killed Lommy. I made him say his lines and everything before I slit his throat.”

Gendry didn’t know what to say. Why was she telling him all this? He was glad Raff was dead. _He won’t be killing no more children_ , he thought. _Or pulling any girls into the bushes for him to use_.

But Arya… The thought of Raff anywhere near her…

“You brought him to your rooms? He tried to take your _maidenhead_?”

“I knew that was a sure way to make him come with me,” she said. “He kissed me, but I pushed him away and killed him before he could do any more.”

“But why’d you go and bring him to your rooms? Why’d you have to go anywhere near him? Raff and his like, they deserve to die, but gods. What if he’d-”

“It did have to be me,” she insisted. “It _did_. ‘The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.’ That’s what my father always told Robb and Jon. I had to be the one to do it.”

Before he could argue any more, she continued.

“Men were always grabbing at me and trying to get into my smallclothes.” Arya paused. “But _you_ don’t. I can hardly get _you_ in the same bed with me.”

“Arya…” Gendry said, suddenly even more uncomfortable.

“Are you blushing again? I like that you blush and get all flustered the way you do.”

He was. Gendry could feel his face burning. He didn’t know what to do with all of this. The idea of scum like Raff or anyone putting his hands on her made Gendry’s fists clench. He was tempted to tell her to go to sleep, to insist they stop talking about all this. But he didn’t.

“My mother, she worked at an alehouse,” he said. “Sometimes she’d bring me with her so as not to leave me alone, and I’d see the way men would grab at her and do more than that. And the men she’d bring home… I can’t do that. Not to you. Not to nobody.”

“Not even if-” she stopped herself and Gendry knew for certain she was biting her lip even without seeing her. “Not even if I wanted you to?”

Gendry didn’t know what to say to that. He knew he shouldn’t. Arya was a highborn princess and he was a hedge knight at best and a bastard smith at worst. He wouldn’t be any better than those others if he ruined her. Yet, since she returned, Gendry couldn’t help but see her for the woman grown she was.

“You wouldn’t want to,” Arya said. “Am I too plain? Too skinny?”

“Don’t be stupid, you’re _beautiful_ ,” Gendry blurted.

The instant after the words left his mouth, he wished them unsaid. Arya’s prolonged silence made it all the worse.

“We spent all this money on the room,” he said, rolling over. “We’d best sleep in it.”

\--------

“Why are you acting so stupid?” Arya demanded.

Gendry didn’t bother asking what she meant. For the past week and a half he could scarcely look in her general direction or do more than ride beside her silently, let alone hold her gaze.

“Thought I was always stupid,” he said, still refusing to look at her. “Isn’t that what you’re always going on about?”

“I don’t usually mean it. You know that. Are you angry with me? What is it?”

Jaw clenching, Gendry looked determinedly ahead. He noticed a few streams of smoke curling above the trees ahead of them. In years past, that was a sign of death and danger. Now it only meant there was likely a village nearby with work and coin to be had. And an inn.

“No,” he said stiffly. “I’m not angry.”

He could feel her eyes boring holes into him.

“Something’s wrong,” Arya insisted. But she didn’t say any more.

They rode in silence for the rest of the day. Just past evenfall, the forest parted way to reveal a small town. Straight away, Arya spoke of finally sleeping in a bed again and getting to wash in the bathhouse.

“I’ll sleep in the stables this time,” Gendry said.

Abruptly, Arya reined her horse in front of his, forcing him to a stop. “Again? You’re going on about this again? We’ve slept beside each other half a hundred times at least since the last time you got gallant like this. What’s different now?”

“ _Nothing_.” He stared determinedly at the white mare she rode. “Just leave off!”

“Fine, I’ll sleep in the stables with you then,” she said. “There’s no use wasting a room on just one of us.”

“Arya, what -”

“Tell me why you’re acting like this,” she demanded. “Do you want to leave me? Is that it?”

Gendry finally lifted his gaze to meet hers. “I didn’t say that.”

“You won’t look at me and you barely even talk to me now.” Arya bit her lip, then stopped straight away, giving her cheek a firm slap. All at once, she seemed calm. Blank. “If you want to go, you can go. I can make it north on my own.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Gendry said firmly.

“Then-”

“I saw you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I watched- I saw you.” Gendry couldn’t look at her when the words came out. His face burned as fierce as though he stuck his head into a forge. “When you was…in our room at the last inn we stayed at. After I left for the bathhouse, I came back early because I forgot something or other. And I wa- I saw you- what you was doing.”

Gendry hadn’t thought it was possible to sneak up on Arya. Not the Arya she was since her return to Westeros. Her ears caught even the slightest of sounds and fear kept her alert to everything around her.

He certainly never thought to catch her unawares with all the noise she accused him of making.

“I hear you an hour before I finally see you,” she would say, sometimes annoyed and sometimes teasingly.

Typically, Arya would already be addressing him as he pushed open the door to their room. She wouldn’t even have to look up from whatever she was doing to see if it was really him.

Yet, that day when he returned to the room they shared, he took her completely unawares. Not even his footfalls coming down the hall nor the opening door caught her attention. He had found Arya on their bed without a stitch on her. Her eyes were squeezed shut and her hand moved between her legs.

Gendry had known he should leave and shut the door. And he did. Eventually.

For a moment, Arya didn’t say anything. The only sounds were the occasional whining of their horses and vague noises from the village. In the past, she would have yelled at him and maybe even got a few punches in. Her responses were always more controlled and purposeful now.

The silence stretched so long, Gendry had to look up at her. Arya’s features were completely composed, though a touch of pink spread over her cheeks.

“That’s why we can’t share a bed,” he said. “Not anymore.”

“For how long?” Arya asked.

“For good. We can’t-”

“No, I meant how long were you watching me?”

In his mind’s eye, he saw Arya as she had been that day, flushed and humming softly as her fingers moved within the dark curls between her thighs.

Gendry swallowed. “Too long. Beg your pardons.”

Arya nodded and pursed her mouth as though she were struggling not to bite her lip.

“I want to watch you,” she said. “When you touch yourself.”

His cock twitched at the thought of it. “Arya-”

“You watched me,” Arya reminded him as though he’d forgotten. “It’s only fair. I should get to see you too.”

Gendry tried to think of some way to make her realize what an awful idea this was, but few ideas came to mind and they were all feeble.

“Princesses and ladies shouldn’t be seeing something like that,” he said.

“I’m only a lady when I’m playing one,” she said. “Will you let me watch?”

Gendry cursed under his breath. “Just the once. To make us even. And that’ll be the end of it.”

All too soon, they found themselves in their new room. Gendry struggled with the laces of his breeches, well aware of Arya’s eyes on him. She sat on the bed with her long, slender legs drawn up against her chest.

“Why are you so nervous for?” she asked. “I’ve seen it before.”

“Then I ‘spose you don’t need to be seeing it again,” he snapped.

“Shut up, you know what I mean. Do you need some help?”

“I know how to unfasten my own laces.”

“Do you _want_ some help, then?”

Gendry refused to respond as he finally worked himself free of his breeches and smallclothes.

“Are you going to stand while you do it?” Arya asked. “Get on the bed.”

“What does it matter?”

“I want to see you better.”

“You can see fine,” he said. “I didn’t tell you how or where to do it.”

“No, you couldn’t, could you? You were spying on me.”

Guiltily, Gendry did as she asked and sat on the bed. He wondered if he would even be able to rouse himself with her watching him. Yet, Gendry felt himself stirring in his hand as Arya scooted closer.

Spreading the liquid that beaded at the tip, he glanced up to gauge her response. Her expression was blank but for some mild curiosity.

“Is that all you do?” Arya asked after a few minutes had passed.

He tried to ignore the pang of embarrassment. “You’re bored? I can stop.”

“No, I want to see you finish.”

Gendry quickened his strokes to hasten his release. “I didn’t see you finish.”

“You might have if you’d stayed longer. Or if you’d let me know you were there.”

“You would have let me stay?”

She shrugged. “I might have. If I wanted you to. Can I stroke your cock?”

Gendry jolted _. That wasn’t part of the deal_ , he wanted to say. But the thought of her slender fingers sliding over him made him incapable of speech.

“Can I?” she asked, reaching out and tracing the tip of his cock.

Arya must have taken his silence for assent because she brushed his hand aside and wrapped her own around him. His jaw clenched as she moved. Her grey eyes glanced back and forth between his face and cock, studying him. The feel of her skin over his was deliciously foreign, so different from his own palm.

“Is this good?” Arya asked. “Am I doing it right?”

He could only groan in response.

The smile that tugged at her lips was nothing short of smug as she stroked him more confidently.

Shocking even himself, Gendry fisted his hands in her hair and drew her face to his. She let out a gasp of surprise as his mouth covered hers. That gasp became a moan as his tongue explored her mouth, tracing over her own tongue. Her hand stilled over him.

For a moment, he could think more clearly. _We ought to stop_ , he thought. Her mouth mimicked his movements, and he wasn’t certain he could bear prying himself from her.

 _I can’t use her this way,_ a part of him insisted.

With difficulty, Gendry turned away from the kiss, preparing to tell her they had to stop. But Arya ran her hand over him again, firmly tugging up and down his length. And just that easily, his resolve faded with each stroke. He found himself thrusting into her palm, savoring how sweet her little hand felt.

“Arya…” he gasped.

“You aren’t going to tell me to stop, are you?”

She quickened her movements to maddening pace.

“N- I-”

“Isn’t it better with me than it is on your own? When we’re done, maybe you could-”

“Arya-”

Gendry scarcely registered her gasp of surprise as he came in her hand.

He mumbled a string of unintelligible apologies as he struggled to catch his breath. He wasn’t exactly certain what he was apologizing for, but he knew he needed to say it.

When he finally looked up at Arya, he found that that smug smile had broadened. She brushed a quick kiss along his lips and slipped gracefully over him to get off the bed.

“You had better go to your stables,” she said, washing her hands in the basin of water on the room’s little table.

“I should,” Gendry agreed, standing.

He should leave and bed down somewhere far from her warmth.

But Gendry found himself closing the distance between them and slipping his arms around her from behind. Arya curved into him easily.

“The stables are outside,” she reminded him.

He didn’t respond, instead letting his hand trail over her tunic, before reaching her breeches.

“You don’t care about what a ‘princess’ should see and do?” Arya asked, deftly unfastening her laces while looking over her shoulder at him.

He pressed kisses into her hair and slipped his hand into her breeches. “I want to make us even, is all.”


	4. My Best Friends' Sister

What they were doing was a clear violation of the bro code. Screwing your best friend’s little sister is something you just don’t do. For Gendry it was a betrayal twice over since he’d been friends with both Jon and Robb since they were all in the same Freshmen Focus and had been roommates with them since sophomore year.

But no matter how guilty he felt about it, he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

The first time Gendry woke up with a slight headache and Arya’s messy brown hair splayed over his chest, all he could think about was how gruesomely her brothers are going to murder him for this. When Jon asked Gendry to look out for his little sister now that she was coming to college with them, this probably wasn’t what he had in mind.

But when Arya awoke, she had no such concerns. “It’s no big deal,” she’d said. “So what if we hooked up? I’m not some kid. I’m 18 years old. Robb and Jon don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do. Or _who_ I do.”

“Yeah, but they’ll have something to say to me though,” Gendry said, rubbing his temple.

He knew he should have insisted that she get some clothes on and then snuck her out of the house before her brothers woke up. Unfortunately, his body had already decided against that course of action before his mouth could form the words.

Arya yawned and stretched out on top of him. She gave a little gasp of surprise when her thigh brushed against his hardened cock.

A mischievous smile spread across her face. “Oh, you wanna do it again, huh?”

Before he could say another word, Arya had slipped her leg to Gendry’s other side, straddling him between her slender thighs, and wrapped a hand around his cock.

“Arya,” he gasped hoarsely.

Gendry tried to keep his eyes fixed on hers, but with her sitting on top of him, he found his gaze sliding over the modest curves of her slim body.

“You really want me to stop?” she asked.

He should’ve said yes. Instead, Gendry found himself reaching up to trace one of her small breasts, cupping it in his hand, and feeling the nipple harden against his palm. Encouraged by her ragged breathing and the way she pressed hard against his hand, Gendry sat upright and covered her mouth with his own.

“We’ll do it just one more time,” he swore between hungry kisses. “’Kay? And that’s it.”

Arya nodded. “Yeah, yeah, sure.”

She was lying, but for the moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

They both groaned as she eased herself down his length, and kissed once more to quiet each other.

“You OK?” Gendry asked.

“Uh-huh, I’m good.” She brushed her lips against his again before lifting herself up and sinking down on him again.

——-

Gendry learned early on that she was definitely a kisser. When they were alone and weren’t arguing, barely a few minutes went by without her kissing him in some way. A quick kiss on the back of his neck when she wrapped her arms around him from behind. A sleepy peck on his chest when they woke up together in her dorm room. A deep kiss on the mouth to muffle their moans as he was thrusting inside of her.

The only trouble was, she was getting to casual with her shows of affection.

“What the hell are you doing?” Robb demanded, one afternoon when he walked in on them.

Gendry had been sitting on the couch with his laptop and Arya had leaned over the back of the sofa to kiss him on the cheek.

“Look we-” Gendry started, but Arya cut him off.

“Don’t be stupid,” she said. “I was only kissing him on the cheek. It’s not a big deal. I kiss all of you guys on the cheek all the time.”

She strode up to Robb and pecked him on the cheek too with an exaggerated, “Mwaahh! You guys got anything to eat?”

Arya walked past him into the kitchen and Gendry could hear the fridge open with a spongy, swish.

Shamefully, he scowled and raked his fingers through his shaggy hair. “Robb, look man, I-”

“Sorry, man, I just get over protective of her cause of what happened with our other sister last year,” Robb said, dropping into an overstuffed chair and unwinding his earbuds. “I know you don’t see her like that. I’m just relieved she’s skipped over that boy crazy phase.”

Gendry might’ve told him the truth then, but he wasn’t even sure how to classify whatever his relationship with Arya was. And anyway, Robb was already plugged in and typing away on his laptop.

——

The first person to find out about them was Arya’s roommate, Wylla Manderly. When she walked in on them, there was no quick explanation to give.

Gendry had been kneeling in front of her bed, hurriedly tugging down Arya’s leggings and panties when she walked.

“Hey! What the fuck, Wylla!”

Gendry cursed, and tried to cover Arya with her comforter.

“Oh, crap, sorry!” Wylla said, brushing a few strands of green hair out of her face. “Hi, you must be Gendry.”

“I thought you were at swim practice!” Arya cried.

“It was canceled,” she said. “We really need a signal, like a sock on the door or something.”

“Yeah, sure, but we’ll have to come up with something more creative than that,” she said. “Could you give us an hour?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be down at the dining hall.” Wylla closed the door behind her.

“She knows about us?” Gendry demanded.

“She’s my best friend,” Arya said. “Of course I told her. I would’ve told Jon too, if I could have.”

“So would I,” he replied testily.

“Can we talk about this later? We were kind of in the middle of something and we only have an hour.”

Gendry barked out a laugh.

“We _will_ talk about it though,” he said, before pulling her toward him by the leg and bowing his head between her thighs.

——

Arya basically moved in when Robb and Jon went away to Oldtown for a long weekend to scope out the Citadel for grad school. Gendry thought he and Arya wouldn’t be spending much time in their clothes, and he was right.

But what surprised him was how well they got along outside of the sex. There was something so comforting in spooning with her on the couch watching movies or cooking with her in the kitchen.

Now that they didn’t have to be quiet in bed, they found themselves talking and laughing well into the night.

It got him to thinking of how nice it would be to hang out with her at the sports bar down the street or go out to a movie sometime or even visit her family with her over break.

“Why don’t you want to tell your brother’s about us?” Gendry asked the night before her brothers were to come back.

He always knew why he didn’t want to tell them. They’d be furious. But Arya didn’t seem to have the same kind of motivation.

Arya shrugged in his arms. “I just know how they’ll get if they find out I’m interested in somebody. After what happened with my sister and that creep…They treat me like a kid who’s too stupid to make her own decisions. I mean… I get it. They care about me. But…”

“…but it still sucks,” he finished.

She nuzzled her face into his neck.

“But we _do_ need to tell them sometime,” Gendry said.

“We can tell them after we break up,” she said. “Then they won’t be able to give us any shit about it because it’s already over.”

“What if we don’t break up?”

A beat of silence passed between them.

Arya propped herself up and kissed him. “Then we’ll have to tell them at the wedding.”


	5. Dare

Arya’s stitches were crooked again, but it didn’t matter. Septa Mordane snored away in her chair by the window, oblivious to the mess Arya made of her embroidery.

These days, the old woman fell asleep every afternoon only a few moments after their little group of four sat down for needlework. Though relieved that her septa was too sleepy to lecture her, Arya would almost prefer a reprimand over having to listen to Jeyne and Beth’s giggling and gossiping.

The two of them would always start in as soon as Septa Mordane’s eyes shut. They went on and on about the men they had seen training in the yard or who had tried to kiss them. This time, Jeyne was gushing over Theon. The steward’s daughter never seemed to be able to make up her mind on whether she was in love with him, Robb, or some visiting lord’s son.

“He kissed me behind the First Keep,” Jeyne said. “He said he wants to marry me.”

“He _did_?” Beth squealed.

Jeyne hesitated. “Well, he didn’t say it, _exactly_. But that’s what he meant. He said I would make a fine salt wife. He wants me to come to his-”

“That’s a lie,” Arya said, jerking the thread through the cloth in her lap.

Jeyne Poole glared at her from across the tower room. “You don’t know anything about men or courting.”

“Neither do you or you’d know Theon kisses anyone stupid enough to let him,” she said. “He doesn’t marry any of them. Not even the ones who let him under their skirts.”

“You’re just jealous because you’ve never kissed anyone.”

“I could kiss someone if I wanted to,” Arya shot back. “And it wouldn’t be Theon.”

Jeyne cast a glance toward their sleeping septa before saying, “He wouldn’t _let_ you kiss him. No one would, _Horseface_. He’d just as soon find a wife in a stable.”

The words struck Arya right in the chest and sent a lump rising to her throat. She knew that was likely true. But she was a woman grown now. Almost sixteen. She refused to let Jeyne see her cry.

“Shut up!” she said. “I’ve kissed more men than you and they’d marry me sooner than anyone would marry you.”

“Who?” Beth asked, excitedly.

Arya was at a loss. No matter what she said, they would find out she was lying just by asking them. As for who would marry her, that was a question that plagued the halls of Winterfell since Sansa was wed to the Smalljon almost a year ago. Father wanted to find her another North man while Mother thought a southerner from one of the Great Houses was the wiser choice. She would have had the same for Sansa, but Father was too wary of the south since the last war.

In her silence, Jeyne opened her mouth, surely ready to gloat again. But Beth spoke first.

“It’s Gendry, isn’t it?” she asked. “Palla said you’ve been sweet on each other for years.”

“Gendry?” Arya felt her face flush. Her mind went to all of those times she had gone to the smithy to talk to him about this or that, but ended up watching him at work, the purpose of her visit forgotten. But how could Palla know anything of that? “What if it is Gendry?”

“Now _you’re_ lying,” Jeyne said.

“I am not!”

“You can’t marry Gendry, he’s a bastard blacksmith.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t kiss him,” Arya said.

“Then prove it. Go kiss him now. I _dare_ you.”

“I will then.”

She rose and stomped out of the room. She could feel the other two girls fast on her heels as they went down the winding stair. Beth was whispering of how handsome Gendry was, and for once Jeyne wasn’t saying anything.

At the archway to the courtyard she stopped abruptly.

“You can’t just come along,” she told them. “Gendry’s shy.”

“Fine, we’ll watch from the window on the floor above,” Jeyne said.

Arya watched them retreat back the way they came before striding purposely for the smithy.

She ordered herself not to be so nervous. She told herself it was nothing. If Jeyne Poole did it, it couldn’t be anything special. And she’d seen her parents do it in passing a thousand times at least. It was nothing.

Arya found Gendry alone, organizing his tools and hanging them on the wall. When he saw her, he didn’t seem surprised. Gendry only nodded in greeting and continued with his work.

His reaction calmed her some. It made her feel like this was any other time she might have come to see him while he worked.

“Where’s Mikken?” Arya asked, trying to give herself some time to figure out how to go about doing this. He was so tall. She’d have to jump to reach his face and that would only make her look even stupider than she already felt. She didn’t dare look back at the tower windows behind her, but Arya could picture Jeyne and Beth laughing at her from the window across the way. They would never let her forget this if it went wrong.

“He’s gone into winter town to see some widow he’s been courting,” Gendry said, brushing his shaggy hair out of his face.

“Good,” she said, deciding what to do. “I need to tell you something. A secret.”

Gendry looked at her curiously. “What’d you do?”

“ _Nothing_ ,” Arya cried. Glancing about to make certain no one in the yard hear, she said more quietly, “Come here, I have to whisper it in your ear.”

He hung the tongs he was holding on the wall and strode over to where she stood by the door. 

“What is it?”

“Stoop down so I can reach your ear,” she said.

“No one’s here. Just say it.”

“I said come closer.”

Rolling his eyes, he leaned down. “What is it?”

She brought her mouth close to his ear. “I’m going to kiss you. Don’t go and do anything stupid.”

Gendry turned his head to look at her, confused. Before he could say anything, she grabbed hold of his face and smashed her face against his. Their noses collided.

“What’s this about?” Gendry demanded.

“Nothing,” Arya said. “Nothing. Just shut up.”

She cast a look behind her, dreading seeing Jeyne and Beth’s reactions. But each of the tower windows was empty. She screwed up her face in confusion.

Calloused fingers cupped her jaw and turned her face so Gendry filled her gaze. She opened her mouth to say something. She wasn’t sure what. But it didn’t matter anyway. Whatever she meant to say was swallowed away when Gendry’s mouth covered hers. Warmth spread through her as his tongue pushed into her mouth, tentatively exploring. His arms curved around her and their bodies molded firmly against each other. A gasp escaped her just as he drew his mouth way.

“Is that what you was trying to do?” he asked.

His blue eyes bore into hers, impossibly smug.

Unable to think of a response, Arya grabbed his face and kissed him again, this time watching for their noses. She slipped her tongue tongued along his lips, trying to do what he had done and wondering if it was possible to make him feel what she had just seconds before.

“Arya Stark!”

Arya broke away from Gendry to see Septa Mordane in a window across the yard. Jeyne and Beth stood on either side of her, their faces in their hands and their bodies shaking with laughter.

“You get your bastard hands off her this instant!” Mordane shouted. “She is a lady. Arya, your mother and father will hear of this!”

Gendry cursed as she disappeared from view. Arya just glared at the two girls who remained in the window, laughing freely now.

It would take Septa Mordane some time to make her way down the stairs without assistance and even more time to find her parents. Arya decided to take advantage of that time.

She laced her arms around Gendry’s neck to draw him to her, and then kissed him as confidently as though she had done it a thousand times before. 


	6. Pretty Irritating

Gendry doesn't mean to tell Arya she's pretty. It just keeps coming out, is all.

The morning after her first battle was when it happened.

They were returning from a raid on a Frey supply train. Lord Beric had relented and allowed her to come along. He was loathe to do it with her being a girl – practically a woman now – and highborn at that. But they were running short on everything. Food, armor, horses, men. The lightning lord couldn't afford to turn away a good archer when they needed these supplies something terrible.

And thanks to Anguy, Arya _was_ a good archer. Fierce and fearless too.

As she rode beside him, Gendry noticed that her cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink beneath smudges of dirt. Strands of hair fell loose and wild about her face. She practically bounced in the saddle from excitement. Without preamble, she threw back her head and let out a long, "Ahooooo." A lone howl answered back, followed by several more.

Tom laughed. "Quiet, girl! You'll bring wolves down upon us, and not the two legged kind."

When they reached camp, Gendry dismounted and moved to help her down.

"I know how to get off a horse," Arya said, even as she slid into his arms still grinning from all the excitement and danger she seemed to crave. She was warm and soft against him for a few brief seconds. Then she tuned to tend her horse.

"Never thought I'd see a highborn lady feathering Frey's," Lem said.

Anguy hooted. "She _look_ like a highborn lady to you?"

"No." It was Gendry who answered, the words coming out before he could think them through. "She looks pretty."

The words drank the happiness from Arya's face. Hurt and betrayal replaced it in quick order, followed by anger.

Arya punched him in the chest. "Stupid bastard," she said before stalking off.

"What's all that for?" Gendry called after her.

"She's a funny one," Tom said.

"Aye," Harwin agreed. "That she is. Always was. But you'd best not get any ideas, lad. She's a lady whether she acts it or not."

The singer agreed. "Don't go making us hang you. We're hurting enough as it is. We'd hate to lose our only blacksmith too."

* * *

It had been a long time since Gendry laughed at the sight of Arya all dressed up like a proper little lady. He couldn't remember exactly when he stopped. Probably around the time she grew teats and members of the Brotherhood vowed to geld him every time he looked too long.

Acorn Hall is the only place in all the world where Arya will consent to wearing a gown. Lady Smallwood can still get her cleaned, primed, and dressed up proper. Gendry wondered if she behaved so tame with her because the old woman reminded her of her own lady mother or if it was because Lord Beric left her at Acorn Hall to heal after what folks were calling the Red Wedding.

Either way, Arya followed Lady Smallwood into the hall where the men were already eating some of the supplies they had brought for the lady. Arya wore a dress of faded yellow and brown that she kept tugging at and readjusting because it didn't fit comfortably.

Gendry took a long swig of wine to keep from staring.

Ned Dayne didn't bother looking away. He never did. The Lord of Starfall hoped to wed her once the world was set to rights again, not that he dared tell her that. _Lord_ Edric called out to " _Lady_ Arya," making room for her beside him.

Arya must have waved his lordship off because Gendry could feel her plopping down beside him.

"Stupid dress," she said under her breath, twisting her shoulders to make the cloth fit properly.

"Looks nice," he said. She scowled at him.

Arya's spirits rose as they share a skin of wine during the meal and heard news about the Lannister queen's fall. It seemed the man claiming to be one of the last remaining dragons finally crushed the united forces of the Lannister and Tyrell armies with the help of the Martell forces. Agreeing to marry his cousin, Arianne, made the difference. Cersei Lannister would be publicly executed after a mummer show trial.

Gendry watched Arya close her eyes, suck in a deep breath, and let it out all slow as the Brotherhood raised a toast to the justice finally served for King Robert and Lord Eddard, Hand of the King. Gendry wanted to say something, but didn't know what. Should he congratulate her for having one less name to whisper to the darkness? Instead, he refilled their cups and raised his own with the others.

But, with the good news came the bad. Now that the Lannisters had fallen, Lady Smallwood anticipated the return of her liege lord. She hoped to present Lord Edmure Tully's niece to him in good order.

"Arya should stay here until we can return her to her kin," the lady said. "She'll be ready for marriage soon. Some would say she already is. Lord Edmure will want to make a good match for her to help strengthen the riverlands."

A block of ice formed around Gendry's chest. _A good match_. He didn't need to look into Thoros' flames to know that wouldn't be the likes him. He took another drink of wine.

"I don't want to marry," Arya said. "I want to stay with the Brotherhood."

"Soon enough there won't be a Brotherhood," Tom said. "Soon 'twill be time to disband and put an end to this song."

"A maid like you should be thinking about knights and husbands and babes, not outlaws like Tom Sevensons here," Lady Smallwood said.

As the conversation moved on around them, Arya said in a low voice to Gendry, "That's all my sister wanted. Knights, husbands, and babes with beautiful golden hair."

"Maybe she'll get them now that everything's almost sorted," he said.

"If she's alive." They were quiet a moment as she stared into her cup like it held the last bits of hope in the world. "She would have been good at it, leastways, better than me. Nobody would want me for a wife."

Gendry laughed bitterly, casting a glance toward Ned Dayne before taking another drink. Was she mad? "Is m'lady making a joke?"

"You don't see me laughing, do you, _ser_?"

"Men will want to marry you."

"Why?" she demanded. "Because I'm supposed to be a lady of two exiled Houses?"

Then he did it again. Said something foolish. At least this time he could blame it on the drink.

"No, because as bloody irritating as you are, you're the prettiest thing I know."

Arya dumped the remnants of her wine over his head.

Hooting laughter rose up around them.

"I should've known better than to talk seriously with a stupid, bullheaded bastard," Arya said as she stalked away.

A giggling serving wench gave him a cloth to clean off with as he watched Arya march out of the hall. Without making the decision to do it, Gendry found himself on his feet, striding after her.

"You don't like me telling you how pretty you are?" he called after her down the corridor.

"Figured that out on your own, did you?" she yelled back.

By then, Gendry caught up with her. Just as he brushed her arm with his fingertips, Arya whirled on him. "I won't be made fun of by some stupid… stupid… stupid…"

"That the only word you know?"

"Idiot!"

Arya would have said more, but Gendry's mouth covered hers. Fool that he was, he didn't think about how a member of the Brotherhood could wander out of the great hall, see what they were about, and put an end to him right there. He would have to blame this stupidity on the drink too. Might as well. The taste of it still flavored both their mouths as he found out when he run his tongue coaxingly along her lips, urging them to open. When they did, Seven help him, Gendry all but crushed her body to him.

Gendry finally pulled away, his head spinning from more than just the wine.

Arya stared him, blinking dumbly. Not know what else to do, he kissed her again. This time, she arched her neck up to meet him. The young woman's fingers tangled with the front of his tunic.

This time when their mouths parted, Arya leaned up again and placed a quick kiss on his lips, as if trying to get the last word in an argument.

They said nothing for a time as they drank each other in. Her grey gaze roved from his eyes to his mouth and back. Arya's hair was mussed where his hands grasped and her lips were swollen. She didn't look near so neat anymore.

"You're so very pretty," he murmured.

This time, she didn't hit him or rage or even spill a drink.

"Gendry." Arya looked at him almost shyly; a blush crept into her cheeks. "I want to do that again."

"You want Harwin and the others to geld me, that's what you want."

But Gendry pulled her close and kissed her again.


End file.
